


Deadlock's Kid

by Ostriich



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Abuse, Blood and Gore, Father-Son Relationship, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Jesse is a teenager, Major Character Injury, Past Abuse, be careful; some triggers inclue, but theres also, so he's a bratty baby
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-19
Updated: 2017-12-19
Packaged: 2019-02-16 22:32:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13063542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ostriich/pseuds/Ostriich
Summary: Jesse McCree. Right now, no one knows his name, but when he gets older he knows that Deadlock will respect him. Not many think that a scrawny sixteen year old has much potential. This one, though, is a feisty sharpshooter that can hit a can off the roof of a house from half a mile away, given he has his trusty six shooter, Peacekeeper, and for some odd reason, he requires that he wears his hat. It's a near and dear thing to him. It was a shame when it was blown to nothing by rains of bullets when he was fleeing from Overwatch.-=-At age sixteen, Jesse McCree was captured along with the rest of Deadlock by Blackwatch, an unknown organization lead by Gabriel Reyes. At first, Jesse found that it was torturous to even be around the crew. They had taken away his home, his friends, and his dignity, not to mention that this 'Gabriel Reyes' had an ego that rivaled Jesse's. Soon enough, though, he learns that this life may be a lot less dangerous than the one he had back at New Mexico.





	1. Prologue

Jesse McCree. Right now, no one knows his name, but when he gets older he knows that Deadlock will respect him. Not many think that a scrawny sixteen year old has much potential. This one, though, is a feisty sharpshooter that can hit a can off the roof of a house from half a mile away, given he has his trusty six shooter, Peacekeeper, and for some odd reason, he requires that he wears his hat. It's a near and dear thing to him. It was a shame when it was blown to nothing by rains of bullets when he was fleeing from Overwatch.  
  
Deadlock wasn't a good gang, per say, and that's sort of why Overwatch had raided their base and infiltrated their drug trade. Jesse was no idiot. He was one of the five people to have fled the scene, but from what he could hear, the other four were captured or killed. Perhaps both or a fine median where they were being tortured silly. Damn, did his lungs ache and his legs tremble as he dodged bullets, rolled behind cover, and jumped over trash in the abandoned warehouse! When he needed a moment to take a break, he sank down behind a concrete wall, holding his bleeding arm with his frayed hat in his other hand.  
  
Why was it the young ones that were always the one to get away? Somehow, this was kinda like a cliche to him, like some superhero being sent in a little pod from his planet before it's blown up. He wants to say Superman was like that, but those comics were, like, a century ago. It made his chest hurt when he thought about who the ones that 'sent him in the pod' were: the Deadlock leader, who he saw as a father figure ever since he killed his parents, was the one to shoo Jesse away before he'd get captured, or worse, shot.  
  
They had good times there in Deadlock. Besides the rough training, many bruises and scars, and general torture from their treatment, Jesse can say he's had a lot of fun with them. He's gotten plenty of chances to snipe with his pistol and test his boundaries with training. Guess this is just how things have to go. His entire life crushed as he tried to catch his breath, heart pounding in his head from behind the wall.  
  
When he heard the gunshot rattling off the concrete, that's when he knew he had to go. The cowboy darted to his feet. Even if his limbs were screaming and the bullet wound in his arm was pounding, he had to run or he'd knew he'd get killed. He was probably about to be, anyway. But that was quitter's talk! Shit! They were right on his tail and sending bullet after bullet towards him as he wove through the warehouse, yet he wouldn't give up! Even when he heard voices screaming, it only encouraged him to run more.  
  
It encouraged him to look to the doorway—the doorway! He was almost out of there! Then he could just hide in an alleyway instead of being cooped up in this facility. He heaved and hollered as he ran, but he wasn't even sure if he was screaming, as the blood roaring in his head was loud and unforgiving. His footfalls were clumsy, and he was pretty sure he'd been falling for the past five minutes, but never truly hit the ground. He thinks he dropped his cowboy hat as his hands grasped at his shirt or just swung wildly next to him. He couldn't take his eyes off the exit. Almost there.  
  
Just a few more steps! He'll be free! Deadlock would be so proud of him! He could gather the ones that possibly escaped and make a new Deadlock with him as the leader! The pain would all be worth it! Just him, his gun, and his new fami—  
  
_WHUMP._  
  
Jesse stumbled back in shock as he smacked face-first into a large man's chest. He wasn't sure what happened. One moment, his path was clear, and the next, his hoodie was being grabbed as he was yanked close to whoever the man ones.  
  
They were speaking, but the shock and sudden lack of adrenaline made him woozy and unsure of what happened. The pain was thundering back through his body and god was it torture. He cried out for help against his will, hoping maybe something would save him, even though he knew he wouldn't get out of this. His face was pressed close into the broad man's chest, his hands gripped tight by a large hand.  
  
It was only then that he could register words. "You're coming home with us, kid," said a gruff voice. Then he realized they were walking. Well, Jesse was kind of being dragged along, but nonetheless, they were moving.  
  
Well, shit. Jesse had been hunted down and captured successfully. What did this mean for him? Death. Despair. Torture. Prison. Fuck! He had one chance and he missed it! And now he was crying because life isn't fair! Whoever was gripping him tight had no mercy, and his hands were aching as he tried to wrench them free from the much bigger one's grip, his fingers curling. They were bloody from him trying to pad over the shot on his arm, but the one who was trucking him over didn't mind. Through hazy eyes, Jesse took a moment to glance up at whoever had grabbed him.

  
Short hair under a beanie. Dark, shaded eyes under thick caterpillar eyebrows. High cheekbones but a defined and square jaw with half of a beard and a crooked nose from years of breaking. He had two scars trailing up his cheeks. No doubt, this guy was a badass. Jesse wouldn't be getting out of this. He wouldn't be getting home. He wouldn't be returning to Deadlock. He wouldn't ever see his family again. He wasn't sure of when or why he passed out, but when he did, he became dead weight in Gabriel Reyes's arms.

  
-=-

  
"What do you mean you want to keep him?" The strike commander glanced over at Gabriel, raising an eyebrow.  
  
The Blackwatch commander sighed heavily. He was surveying the angry ball of shit throwing a tantrum in the room through the one-way window. "Look at him, Jack," he began, "Look at that face and tell me that's not a kid with potential. He's no monster. He's just a teenager. The only one that we found in Deadlock, actually."  
  
"Fair... But don't you think he'll be a pain to deal with? It'll be a lot to crack that shell." On cue, Jesse screamed about how much he hated everyone in this place before sobbing out another fit of tears. Gabriel shook his head disapprovingly. It was sad to see something like this. The worst part was probably the fact that Gabe could wholeheartedly relate. He didn't have a great family life, and when the SEP picked him up, he only did it for the money at first. But Jack slowly broke him down, and look at him now: ex strike commander of Overwatch, current commander of Blackwatch. This would only take a bit of elbow grease and training. He was sure he could change Jesse McCree for the better if he just took the right approach.  
  
"Yeah," replied Gabriel, "but I like a challenge."


	2. Deadlock's Kid

When Jesse was sat down at that table, he knew it was the end of his dignity. His hands were bound down to the hard wood with leather straps that reminded him a little too much of home back in Deadlock. His throat was raw from all the screaming slung at the commander and his idiocy.   
  
How dare they treat him like a dog. How dare they stare at him through that one way mirror. He was sure it wasn't just a mirror, according to the way it was sunken in the wall. He had experience with these kinds of things, such as a strip club in Dorado that Deadlock visited where they could look through the one-way mirror into the women's restroom. It wasn't a good memory, but that's when he learned especially not to backtalk the leader of Deadlock. He still can feel the bruise on his arm even if it was a year ago.   
  
When the door clicked open, Jesse's gaze snapped up, and he had to blink away the rest of angry tears to see through the haze. Of course, it was Mr. Big Bad again. It was the same man that dragged him before Jesse was knocked out in his arms. He could see how his own knuckles turned white from how much he was digging his fingernails in his palm as if it would keep him from screaming the most cruel insults imaginable. He already had, anyway, as soon as he was locked in this godforsaken room.   
  
As the large man took his seat across from Jesse at the table and flipped through a folder, he could feel himself basically pulling back from him, as if shifting away would get him further from this asshole. He didn't even want to look at him. "Jesse McCree," the man began, almost as if he were testing the words on his tongue. "Bounty: one hundred thousand. One of the only confirmed members of Deadlock. A sneaky little brat with thirty confirmed kills. You're a special one, kid."   
  
"Shut the fuck up," Jesse spat out against his will. You are a stupid asshole that means nothing in my life. You're an idiot and don't even deserve to see me because I hate you and you suck. He was relaying the aggressive words in his mind before he was cut off, causing him to snap his gaze up from his hands once again.   
  
"Killed your own mom... dad was nowhere to be found. It only took one bullet and Miss Clara McCree was out cold. You use a six shooter named 'Peacekeeper' and you always wear that hat that got blown to hell from Overwatch's gunfire. You've been sighted throughout northern Mexico, New Mexico, Arizona, and Texas, and you're not always one with Deadlock. You're clearly used for the sneaky operations." That's true. Jesse was commonly the one to fit into the small cracks because of his scrawniness and his short stature. He didn't speak, though. "And, of course, you're sixteen, male, and 164 centimeters—or, 5'6" for the Americans out there." With that, the man set down the folder after closing it, his dark eyes(which matched his gravely voice) glancing up to Jesse. A crooked, half-assed smile took purchase on his face. "I'm Gabriel Reyes, commander of Blackwatch. You may call me sir."   
  
"Screw you."   
  
"Awwwlrighty," Gabriel replied simply, leaning back in his chair and folding his hands on the table as he quirked an eyebrow. "So, Jesse, tell me. You're wanted for a shit ton of stuff, yeah?" He started absently listing off on his fingers, which still rested on the table. "Murder from the first to the third degree and otherwise homicide, arson, drug trafficking, aggravated assault, conspiracy, domestic abuse, vandalism, identity theft, perjury, kidnapping, manslaughter, hate crimes, animal abuse, shoplifting... I can go on and on.”

“I don’t care.”

“Let me finish. Because of all these charges, your prison time would last you all the way until death, no matter your ripe age of 16. You’re a horrible kid, and everyone knows it. You’ll rot away for ages upon ages.” He paused. Jesse wrinkled up his nose at the thought. Prison wasn’t something he favorited, nor something he’d ever want to be locked up in, but men like him didn’t get mercy, especially when they don’t show it. “But, Jesse--I have a proposition for you.

“You are freed of all of your charges. You don’t have to go to prison. You’ll never be put up for bounty again.” Another pause. The sharpshooter looked up, a bit curious. What could this old coot offer? “...You would be a very valuable asset to Blackwatch, Jesse. You and your aim are reckoned for miles. With your help, we could take down many foes. How about you join us?”

He didn’t even hesitate before blurting out, “Sure,” clearly having had his mood changed. What could one expect? Jesse just got offered a chance to keep out of prison. He’s off the hook for good, and all he has to do is fuck around in this dumb organization until he’s killed or something. This would be a second chance, some kind of calling, one could say, where he could put his brains to use but not have to worry about anything ever again. This was his one saving grace; either it would turn out with Jesse free on the range, working and getting some reputation, or slacking off and not having to stress. “I’m in.”

And that was that. Gabe gave a large smile, furrowed his brow, and from the look on his face Jesse could tell he was in on some big shit.

 

-=-

 

Jesse’s hands flexed next to his belt as he scoped out his target range. Six hovering training bots took their place: two up on the balconies, and the rest scattered through, near, and behind objects. He could feel his muscles tensing.

_ Prove yourself. _

He’ll prove himself. He’ll stun everyone in the damn room with his sharpshooting and blow Gabe away with his skill.

Jesse’s been shooting for as long as he could remember. He’d held his first gun at the ripe age of six when his father was teaching him how to defend himself before the guy vanished from his life and Jesse had to learn the rest of survival on his own. Deadlock only increased this knowledge, freshening his skills and bringing up more strategies that were valuable to him, such as how to secure a headshot with a flick of the wrist and a classic fan-the-hammer that took place in his everyday killings. These were kept in the back of his mind, and it is what made him known as the ‘Deadeye’ through his gang family. He could kill two men with one bullet. He could hit a headshot from half a mile away. He could pop a bullet behind him and hit his target without a doubt.

_ Prove yourself. _

Fine.

His feet shuffled on the mat he was told to take his place on, and it was an odd sound paired with the soft whispers from behind him about how he might do, some of them positive, and some of them negative, commentating on his stance or his greasiness. He didn’t mind. Once more, Jesse calculated his bullets and predicted his shots. His breath evened out and he swore he could hear his heart in his head as it thudded in tandem with his focus. And with that, he stared at his range, paused, and whipped out his Peacekeeper.

When he made his six shots, it was only in a span of two seconds at most. The sound rang through the room and shock took over the area. The bots practically exploded with spark and debris from their heads being blown clean off from Peacekeeper’s bullets, and with that, all six collapsed to the floor, smoke wafting from what was left of their heads.

Jesse pushed his revolver back in its holster, turned his head, and was happy to see the look of surprise on everyone’s faces as he smirked brightly and nodded.

“You happy, Reyes?”

Gabriel Reyes had been watching the entire time, of course, as it is why Jesse had shown off his skill, but the expression on his face wasn't one that proved he knocked his socks off. A raised brow, a neutral frown, and arms crossed over his chest was all way too relaxed for Jesse’s taste. Then again, this guy was the most rock-hard, stone-faced person he'd ever confronted in his life. The commander shrugged, plucking the cigarette between his lips with a thumb and a forefinger and blowing smoke in a cloud before finally speaking, “It’s sir. And I think I'd be more impressed if they were moving.”

Wow. What a prick. Jesse wrinkled up his nose, and the rest of the crowd seemed surprised by Gabriel’s reaction as well. Before the teen could speak, though, Gabriel had stepped up to Jesse, his hands stuffed in his pockets when he put the cig in his lips again. “You gotta stand up straighter. Your feet were too far apart. You took too long to make your aim. Ten seconds of just staring won't do you good if you're in the middle of the battlefield.” He paused as he smirked down at the disgruntled cowboy with that stupid face of his. “But, I gotta admit… It was pretty impressive. I won't lie that your aim definitely lives up to your reputation, Deadeye.” Reyes stepped past Jesse towards the door of the training room that lead outdoors without another word. 

Jesse’s body relaxed. He hadn't even realized how tense the entire ordeal made him until his scowl fell and his hands unclenched from their fists. He glanced around at the crowd that had watched, the recruits and soldiers still in a state of surprise, but soon enough they had scattered when they realized the cold eyes were on them because of them staring.

Jesse was furious. Gabriel Reyes had gotten on his nerves one too many times. It had only been a day since he was introduced into Blackwatch. He could remember their first conversation as they were walking towards his room.

_ ”In Blackwatch, we’re not going to be your mothers. We are your trainers and your teachers. Whatever problem you run into is your own, and our purpose is to teach you how to fight back against these problems, not to guide you through them and hold your hand the entire time. The battlefield is unforgiving, and it will stay this way. This isn't Deadlock anymore.” Reyes took a long, thoughtful drag of his cigarette, and Jesse did the same to his own, both of them puffing out a cloud in matching rhythm.  _

_ Jesse furrowed his brow as he glanced up to Gabe. “So you're basically tellin’ me that you'll be teachin’ me things I already know from Deadlock? Won't that kind of waste both my and your time? I got this, Reyes—” _

_ ”Sir.” _

_ ”—sir, and I don't need help from no old loser like you.” _

_”Then the first lesson will be held tomorrow. I expect to see you in the training area by 0600. Let's assess what you can do. Our first mission will be in a week, and you better shape up by then.” With that, Reyes ushered Jesse into his bunk, leaving Jesse to his own thoughts and complains to himself._

The lesson turned out to be exactly what he described: an assessment, and already he had shut him down. Won't be his mother his ass. He's already treated him like his disobedient child, and even if he is one, then he has no right to talk down on him in such a way that makes him look even more pathetic than beforehand, when his sorry ass was being dragged back to the carrier from the warehouse Deadlock had visited expecting to ship drugs back and forth before getting bombarded by Overwatch and Blackwatch as a whole. 

One of his least favorite things was wasting his time. Jesse was a quick man that got everything done when it needed to be done. On one mission he was sent out on independently, he had to find out the name of a high class drug lord, and he was punished for not staying long enough even if he got just what he needed. He still has a scar on his back from the event just under the massive Deadlock tattoo that took up the space from his shoulders to the middle of his spine. 

Jesse marched off towards his room without hesitation, an angry stomp in his step, his eyebrows furrowed and his lips pouted almost childishly. He didn’t want to be there anymore, where his anger would boil in front of a crowd. This isn't fair! He was stolen from his family and now he was forced to work for this organization that he already despised. They were stuck up, rude, knew way too much about him, and, all in all, were the perfect kind of people to make him feel like shit. All he knew in his mind past the red hot rage was that he was going to run away from this organization and never look back. He wanted to live in the range or out where no one could stop him because he had no criminal records thanks to Blackwatch. He knew that he had to, but how?..

And then it hit him. 

_ ”...Our first mission will be in a week, and you better shape up by then.” _


End file.
